


The Wind That  Shakes The Barley

by soldmysoultofandoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Industrial Revolution, Angst, Bobby is great, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Castiel is like 25, Charlie Bradbury is a Winchester, Charlie is already dead., Dean is 26, Destiel - Freeform, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam and Cas become instant bffls, Sam is 22, Supernatural - Freeform, This gets sad im sorry, and that after he read it, did not work but he did tell me that he was really sad, he just kinda sat there and stared at the screen, i was trying to make my teacher cry, so i count that as a win, this was a homework assignment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 03:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5401394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldmysoultofandoms/pseuds/soldmysoultofandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cold was something that Dean Winchester could always remember. It was the cold that took his sister away from him. The cold was beautiful, but it also takes what is beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wind That  Shakes The Barley

The cold was something that Dean Winchester could always remember in his life. The sharp bite of it on his nose and the way his breath swirled and danced in front of him as he walked to the factory. It was the cold that took his sister away from him. He remembered watching her tremble even with every single blanket that was in the apartment. Even with Dean and his brother Sams’s clothes on her back. He remembered waking up and seeing the pallor of her face. Her lips cold and blue. There were no clouds of white escaping her mouth. He remembered lowering the coffin in the frozen earth. The snow that piled on the granite tombstone.  
Charlotte  
The cold is beautiful, but it also takes away what is beautiful.  
But that was eight years ago. Now twenty-six year old Dean briskly walked along the alley, an old white shirt and a thin brown coat of wool the only defense against the frigid September air. Not that they were doing a good job. Goosebumps erupted amongst his freckled skin, and he pulled the coat tighter against him. The early light colored the sky a pale blue, almost grey. Dean had risen early in order to be at the factory by five. He had left Sam some leftover gruel heating in the pot bellied stove they had in their room, while he went on without food. Clouds of cigar smoke curled around him, and he could see the men in the alley, nicknamed Bandit’s Roost, observing him, occasionally nodding their heads at him. Dean was known amongst these men, due to his reputation in the larceny business along with with old partner, Benny. They don’t bother Dean, and Dean doesn’t bother them. He finally turned out of the alley and into the busy streets of London. Horse drawn carts brought coal to the factories, the mountains of black rock quietly lumbering down the cobbled road. Children quickly snatched the few pieces that came tumbling out, sources of heat that could mean life for a few days, maybe a week. Merchants advertised fresh produce, shoes, things Dean couldn’t afford for himself. All the money earned at the factory went into his brother’s education. Not that Dean minded. His brother was so bright, only four years younger. He had a future. Dean refused to let him work at the factories. He didn’t want to see that light dwindle because of the long hours and little pay.  
“Dean!”  
Dean looked ahead and saw Benny slouched in the awning of a hardware store, tobacco stained teeth showing in a smile. “Hey Benny what’s been happening?”  
“Aw you know. Same old, waking snakes all around town. On your way to the factory?”  
“Yeah. Jobs to be done. Not just my mouth to feed.”  
“Well last job was a real lally-cooler, if you wanna get back in the life. I’m heading out to Manchester tomorrow. Got a hit there”  
“Benny, you know I don’t do that anymore. I can’t afford to be in jail right now.”  
Benny gave a crooked smile. “Alright brother. I’ll see you when you get out.”  
Dean smiled and clapped Benny on the shoulder, and continued walking.  
Then the bell began to chime. Once, twice, thrice. It rang five time. He was late. He quickly broke into a sprint, pushing past pedestrians and peddlers. His coat flapped around him and the thin soles of his shoes grinding into the ground. He saw the group of workers still waiting to be let in and let out a sigh. He caught his breath and made his way over to the mass. One by one they clocked the workers in and finally, Dean entered the overheated atmosphere of the factory. Quickly taking off his coat, he placed it on a rack in the front part of the factory and made his way to the weaving room. There, he greeted Ellen and Joanne, mother and daughter that started around the same time Dean did. Standing at the loom, Dean began to prepare the warp, mounting the yarn from the winder onto the creel. He then took the already prepared yarn from the loom beam and began to weave the warp thread through the eyes of the harness, then raised the heavy wooden harness and beam onto the loom. Back and forth and back and forth. The sound was consistent, the pieces of wood clunking together. Dean’s hands, especially his fingers, grew calloused, after years of spinning and weaving. When he first started out he bled quickly, the raw skin pink and sensitive. He remembered that one time the factory owner, Richard Roman, had denied him pay because he had stained the cloth. But after the week was over, he had found a handful of crumpled bills inside of his coat. He never knew who gave them to him, but every time he was denied pay, they would be there in his pocket.  
He stood there for several hours, weaving, occasionally talking to Ellen about landlords constantly raising the rent for the barely liveable apartments. Dean had considered himself lucky to get a good apartment after living in a room with five other families, with no stove or even furniture. Now they had windows, and a pot-bellied stove all to themselves.  
It was well past noon when the lunch hour began. Dean received can of oatcakes from the boy in charge of handing them out. He smiled gratefully and turned back to his station . He took a small knife from his waist-band and proceeded to open the tin lid. The cake was coarse, drying out his mouth. Dean began to cough, the action hurting his throat even further. A jar of milk suddenly appeared over his shoulder, and he took it without seeing who offered, gulping down the sweet cold liquid. He turned to Jo.  
“Thank you.”  
The blonde arched her eyebrow. “For what?”  
“For the milk.”  
“Dean, I think you’re going crazy. I didn’t give you any milk.”  
“C’mon Jo, don’t try and sell me a dog.”  
“My milk is right here!”  
Sure enough, her can of milk was balancing on her knee. Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. He turned to look to the right and Ellen also had her milk. Dean thought of the crumpled notes. Was it the same person?  
A shrill scream broke his thoughts, coming from the spinning room. Dean lept to his feet and raced towards it, many other workers also rushing to the source of the noise. They entered the spinning room and stopped. A young girl was screaming as she tried to pull the hair of a limp body of another girl out of the gears. “Help! Please help me it’s my sister. Please help!” The young girl, who Dean recognized as Ruby, cried, fat, wet tears rolling off of her flushed face. Mr. Roman pushed past the crowd and ordered someone to stop the machine. Everyone held their breath as the gears slowly stopped and Ruby could stop trying to keep her sister’s head from being crushed. Mr. Roman then motioned for a knife, and when he received it, cut off the hair caught in the gears. “I want workers to clear out the body. The girl is dead. And I want whoever saw what happened in my office immediately. The rest of you, get back to work.” Mr. Roman walked off, Ruby and another man that Dean couldn’t see followed.  
Dean felt a rush of anger course through him, burning every vein in his body. He pushed past the flood of workers returning to their posts and tuned out his ear to the gossip that was beginning to arise. Jo had put an arm out, but quickly retracted it when she saw Dean’s face. He had his eyes trained on the door of the office. Behind the faded wooden door, Dean could hear the muffled yells of Mr. Roman. Dean stormed through the door and slammed it behind him. Roman stared shocked, Ruby on the ground cradling her right cheek. The other man had not even acknowledged his presence, keeping his head down.  
“Winchester, what are you doing? Get back to your machine. Now.”  
Dean grit his teeth angrily. Behind the door, the gears still churned.  
“Mr.Roman, a girl died and you are not doing anything about it. You just tossed her body out like the faulty cloths. She deserves to be taken home.”  
“Believe me Winchester, I am doing something about it. Which is why Mr. Novak and Miss Ruby here are now fired.”  
“You’re firing them? Why?”  
“Miss Ruby and Mr. Novak saw Miss Masters take down her hair, and didn’t say anything about it. Her death is on their hands. Now please Winchester. Get back to your machine before I decide to fire you too.”  
Ruby began to cry again, wailing for her dead sister.  
Dean’s anger surged again, and red became the color of the moment. It was what blurred his vision. It was what flew out of Roman's mouth, the impact of his knuckles against his jaw, coarse hairs from the beard tickling his fist.  
“I quit.”  
Dean helped Ruby up and led her outside, Novak following behind him. Roman came out screaming, yelling filth about the three of them.  
Outside the sun was a pale yellow, but no warmth penetrated the heavy grey atmosphere. Dean helped sit Ruby down on the weathered bricks, then frustrated, punched the wall, the skin between his knuckles splitting open, but he didn’t care. He kept pounding away against the stone. No income. punch. No food. punch. No future for his brother. punch. He stopped, breath ragged and knuckles swelling an unpleasant purple, blood beginning to crust.  
Behind him Dean could hear Novak comfort the young girl, deep voice soothing even him.  
“You’re sister is in a good place now. She is happy.”  
“But I want her here! I want Meg back!”  
“Where do you live? Do you have a family?”  
“My mother. I live in the apartments with her next to the shoemaker”  
Dean turned to see Novak place some crumpled notes in the girl's hand.  
“I'm sorry it’s not more. Go home. I'll have people bring over your sister.”  
Ruby nodded, whimpering slightly. She carefully got up, and gave Dean an appreciative glance, before running down the street, bare feet hitting the pavement. Dean then felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see the bluest eyes he’s ever seen. Worry swam inside of them,tossing and turning in the depths. Dean was captivated.  
“Let me see your hands."  
Dean stood silent, and offered his hands to the dark haired man, who looked about his age, maybe younger. Novak gently took both of Dean's hands in his own, so soft compared to Dean's rough ones.  
"You should bandage them. They could get infected...Are you going to be alright?" Novak ran the tips of his fingers around the wound softly. Dean blushed and pulled his hands away.  
"I'll live. But my brother..."  
"I can give you more money if you want. I have some stored in my house...somewhere."  
"No, I'm fine I just- wait, give me more?"  
The man opened his mouth in a slight 'o' shape. Then looked down at his feet. The wind picked up for a moment causing Dean's sandy blonde and Novak's dark ebony hair to lift in the wind.  
"You're the one who has been leaving me money."  
Silence.  
"Why?"  
Novak lifted his head slightly, eyes studying Dean behind thick lashes.  
"You need it more than I do."  
Dean frowned. Novak had returned to staring at his feet, shuffling anxiously on a pair of brown leather shoes that looked worse for wear. They were thin and held together by thread and miscellaneous scraps of cloth.  
"Thank you."  
Novak looked up and quirked a corner of his lip up. But it quickly faded, almost as if it were never there.  
Dean stood, hands in the pockets of his coat. "So, what are you going to do now? Get a new job?"  
"I don't know. These factories just want children. More gullible, more obedient. They don't know how much you have to pay them. They don't know the risks. I guess I’ll just go back home, stay there until the landlord kicks me out. What about you?"  
"Someone I know needs some more help. His name is Robert. I call him Bobby. He owns a factory a little farther north, I'd probably have to move."  
"That's great."  
Dean observed Novak. He was very thin, thinner than anyone he's seen. The once white shirt on him hanging loose on his frame. His face lacked any color, except for his eyes of course. There was a thin scarf around his neck. Dean cleared his throat.  
"I could ask Bobby if he needs another person. I doubt he would say no. He's a good man. Can't afford much meals for his workers, but he's a good man. And I mean, you could even stay with us . It's just my brother and I. And I owe you for all the times you've given me money. And i'm assuming it was you who gave me the milk too.." The words came tumbling out, rushing to get out through Dean’s lips. Novak stared curiously, and Dean shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.  
"I would like that. If I truly won't be a bother."  
Dean grinned and put an arm around Novak. "C'mon, Sam should meet the man who's been helping him get an education."  
They began to walk down the empty road, the only people around were beggars, holding tins with several precious pounds inside close to their thin frames.  
"What's your name anyways?"  
"Castiel."  
An old man came up to the pair, offering the mouth of the can towards them. He was wearing ripped shirt, almost just strips of cloth along his torso. Castiel smiled softly and unwound the scarf around his neck, and placed it around the shoulders of the old man. He then continued walking up ahead. Dean smiled and chuckled to himself, heart thudding in his chest.  
"Wait up Cas, I actually have to show you where I live you know."  
xxxxxx  
It had been a year since that day outside the factory, and Dean has never been happier. He and Castiel began working in the factory soon after moving up north. Sam had gotten along wonderfully with Castiel, both of them finding common ground with literature. Ranging from romance to suspense, they would not stop the chatter about the ‘veiled metaphors’ and ‘underlying subtext’. Dean usually pretended not to care. But at night, after a long day at the factory, and after Sam had fallen asleep, Castiel and Dean would huddle as close as they could to the dying coals of the stove, and Castiel would recount stories that he had read in the past. Dean would slowly fall asleep to the sound of Castiel’s soothing, deep voice, words falling elegantly out of his mouth.  
Working in the factory was still tough, even with a benevolent owner. Because of Bobby Singers generous pay (Almost five pounds a week, no matter what job the employee had), there was little food and hours were even longer. But not even the watered down gruel couldn't stop the grin that seemed to be permanently etched on Dean’s face. His brother was finally going to college to study law, and Castiel was always there with him.  
Castiel had changed also. He began to smile more. And not just the quirk of the corner of his lips. Full blown toothy smiles. Dean’s heart fluttered when he saw a smile light up the man’s face. Dean knew he felt differently about Castiel. But he didn’t dare bring it up. They we all happy. That what mattered.  
But good things never last.  
The headaches began in December. Castiel said they were from the constant sound of the shuttle moving back and forth, and the gears and looms turning, so Dean thought nothing of it. But they kept growing, until Castiel broke a fever.It was the middle of a work day, and Castiel and Dean were standing at their machines. Dean was talking about the trials of William Burke and William Hare.  
“Sam will not be quiet about it. Says it’s taking place in Edinburgh.”  
Castiel hummed in response, fingers deftly passing the weft back and forth between the warp. Dean smirked at Castiel’s airiness then focused on his own machine. Across the room, there were a group of Irish immigrants singing, voices sweet and lulling, dragging down the words with heavy notes.

_I sat within a valley green,_  
_Sat there with my true love._  
_My heart strove to choose between,_  
_me old love and the new love._

_Dean heard Castiel take a shuddering breath next to him. And another. And another._

_The old for her, the new that made._  
_me think on Ireland dearly._

Castiel collapsed on the floor, unconscious, sweat dripping down his pale face. Dean fell to his knees and lifted Castiel off the ground, and yelled for help. He touched Castiel forehead and felt the fever bubbling underneath the skin. A worker, Garth, helped him lift Castiel to his feet, Together they hobbled towards the entrance to the factory, where Bobby was waiting. They stumbled down the brick stairs, Castiel growing heavier with each step they took. Bobby hailed a passing carriage, and onc it stopped, Garth and Dean hoisted Castiel inside, with Dean quickly following. The horses began to move over the cobbled streets, wheels going over the stones, causing the carriage to jostle. Dean laid Castiel’s head on his lap and stared up at the sky, praying to the God that didn’t seem to care anymore.

_While the soft wind blew down the glade,_  
_and shook the golden barley._

xxxxxx

  
Dean stared at the huddled form of Castiel by the fire. Every blanket in the house drawn around him. Still he shook. Sam opened the door to the apartment and shook off the snow from his broad shoulders. In his hands was a sootstained sack. He quickly made his way towards the stove and pulled out several pieces of fresh coal. “Bobby sent them.” he muttered, before pulling off his coat and placing it around Castiel.  
Dean said nothing. He glanced spitefully around at the room, suddenly hating everything about it. The dampness, the dirty floorboards where they slept. The diplated stove that did nothing to warm up the single room. Thin pane of glass that did not keep the chill of winter out. None of these things were going to help Castiel get better. Sam sighed and sat next to his brother and friend, silence weighing heavily over them.  
A week later Dean knew. Castiel had stopped sleeping. He whimpered in pain from every joint in his body, the headaches ripping him apart. The doctor Bobby sent over said there was nothing that could be done. Dean had stopped eating and sleeping as well, watching over Castiel, wiping away the sweat that fell from his head.  
It was Christmas Day when Castiel died.  
He had been sitting still, his head resting against Dean’s shoulder. They had been silently staring at the burning embers, while Sam was opening a tin of mutton that they had been saving for today. Dean felt a tug on his shirt, and he looked towards Castiel. Castiel shakily handed him a worn piece of paper, browned at the edges where what appeared to be dirt smudged onto it.  
“What’s this?” Dean asked quietly.  
Castiel took a ragged breath. “Read...it..after.”  
Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “Cas, What are you-”  
Castiel put a finger to Dean’s lips and smiled weakly. He pressed his hand against Dean's face, tracing every detail and feature with a trembling finger. Dean's breath hitched as Castiel's gaze met his. Blue eyes filled with tears, a few escaping, running down Castiel's porcelain-like face. Dean bent down slowly, and kissed them away, the salty taste lingering on his lips. Castiel smiled, then took his last breath. Dean could feel the weak puff of air ghost across his face just before Castiel’s head fell to his chest, heart stilling. Dean lifted Castiel’s head from his chest, stared into the cold blue eyes that held so much emotion a mere seconds ago. They were empty.  
“Cas?”  
He placed his hands on the sides of Castiel’s face. His skin was smooth, cold to the touch.  
“Cas?...CAS?..CASTIEL!?”  
Dean shook, cradling Castiel’s head, hands running through the raven locks. Sam had abandoned the mutton, the tin falling to the floor, the impact echoing through the room. He tried to get Castiel on the floor, but Dean refused to let go, clutching the raven-haired man to his chest, tears streaming down his face, falling onto Castiel’s hair. He raised the face once again and desperately kissed the pale, frozen lips. Sam stared at the man that became his friend, a man who his brother cared about so much. He shed his own tear, and listened to his brother’s wails of anguish, which did nothing to bring Castiel back.

  
xxxxxx

_Twas sad I kissed away her tears,_  
_Her arms around me clinging_  
_When to my ears that fateful shot,_  
_Came out the wildwood ringing_

Dean stood in front of the freshly churned earth, the scent still clinging to his clothes, hanging over him like Death's own scythe. Snow piled over a smooth granite tombstone. A named etched on the surface.  
Castiel.  
They had buried him in the same graveyard as Charlie, right next to her in fact. Everyone from the factory was there. A sea of black standing in the stark white snow. The Irish singing the same mournful song that they first sang when Castiel fainted that early December morning.

_The bullet pierced my true love's breast,_  
_In life's young spring so early_  
_And there upon my breast she died,_  
_While soft wind shook the barley_

Dean reached into his breast  
pocket, trembling, and withdrew the folded paper that Castiel had given him. He unfolded it and began to read through tearful eyes.  
_Dean,_  
_I’m dying, maybe already dead by the time you are reading this. I know that you know this, yet I can see it in your eyes that you don’t want to believe it. I can’t be saved. My time is up. But yours isn’t. This last year has been the best of my life. Before you I had no one. My brother Gabriel died, and I had seen little reason for me to continue my life. But then I found one. You. Helping you with getting your brother to college was a reason that made what I did worthwhile. And seeing you, so determined to do what it took to make sure your brother had what he needed, seeing you smile and laugh with Ellen and Jo. You may be flawed, Dean Winchester, but it was those flaws that made me fall in love with you. Yes, it’s too late now. And it’s my only regret. I know you felt the same way, but some things aren’t meant to be I suppose. But promise me you will keep on living. To grow old and see the wonder of the ever-changing world. If you do that, then my death will not be in vain. Perhaps one day we will see each other again and finally we shall be able to wrap ourselves in the warm embrace of love. I love you Dean Winchester, and I always will._

_Forever yours,_  
_Castiel N._

  
Dean shook terribly, so hard he fell to his knees, the damp earth seeping through his slacks and chilling the skin underneath. Sam got down on his knees as well, holding his brother, arms wrapped around the man he looked up to as a child. The man that was now broken. The man whose cries of sadness sent a tightness through everyone attending the funeral’s chest. Dean cried and cried and cried, for the love lost, for the life lost, for what could never be.

_I bore her to some mountain stream,_  
_And many's the summer blossom_  
_I placed with branches soft and green,_  
_About her gore-stained bosom_  
_I wept and kissed her clay-cold corpse,_  
_Then rushed o'er vale and valley_  
_My vengeance on the foe to wreak,_  
_While soft wind shook the barley_

_Twas blood for blood without remorse,_  
_I took at Oulart Hollow_  
_I placed my true love's clay-cold corpse,_  
_Where mine full soon may follow_  
_Around her grave I wondered drear,_  
_Noon, night and morning early_  
_With aching heart when e'er I hear,_  
_The wind that shakes the barley._

The cold is beautiful, but it also takes away what is beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys. This my first fanfiction on ao3, but the sixth one that i've written. I hope you guys enjoy it. This was originally a history assignment that I apparently inspired my teacher to make.  
> Btw this is the link to the Irish Folksong https://youtu.be/WTE6_OiQ43g


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